


My Darling Thoughts Of You

by henrywinters



Series: White Foxes [3]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Multi, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 14:32:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11404416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henrywinters/pseuds/henrywinters
Summary: Before Wonsik ever came into Jaehwan's life, and before Sanghyuk ever professed his love, there was the story of the classics major who fell for a quiet, enigmatic actor lovelier than Aphrodite. [PREQUEL to Wild Tigers I Have Known]





	My Darling Thoughts Of You

**Author's Note:**

> here it is!! extremely late and a lot longer than i intended it to be, but behold: the last piece of my white foxes series. pls enjoy!
> 
> just to be clear, this is the order of this verse  
> → my darling thoughts of you  
> → wild tigers i have known  
> → what a little moonlight can do
> 
> [playlist on spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/synthbin/playlist/5hmsTCxX68k5idNBYwhIBw)

_What we call the beginning is often the end._  
_And to make an end is to make a beginning._  
The end is where we start from

**— T.S. Eliot**

 

 

He had hoped the weather would clear before he was to be at the auditorium, but as it was storm clouds heavy as iron spread out hurricane thick across the courtyard. His cashmere coat was stifling; the ground sank sodden beneath his John Lobb shoes. It was a terrible fate. To stand within a cloud of cigarette smoke, his hair matted over his forehead as if he had just woken from a mid-day nap; Taekwoon felt out of sorts. But it was his simple promise to Hakyeon that kept him going.  _Of course I’ll be there,_  he had said;  _how could I miss the beginning term’s auditions_? It was, of course, the first year Hakyeon would be leading Yonsei’s theater group; and Jaehwan had been picked as second lead. It was no secret that the theater bored Taekwoon—bored him to death if he was to speak honestly—but who was he to miss the beginning of their new production?

 

He moved across campus like a raven among the trees with his coat billowed out like wings behind him. The wind blew sour against his chapped lips; warm, even as the rain began to fall, like drops of steamed water against his face. The doors to the auditorium were propped open; he could hear the jangle of music: brassy notes, tinny and metallic clinging to the rain, as he neared the building. Inside, practice was ending for the university band.

 

‘Thought you’d be late,’ was the first thing Jaehwan said. Just inside the doors, he was leaned with a foot braced against the hallway wall. Careless; reserved. Then he said, with a growing smile, ‘You look like hell.’

 

'Thank you,’ Taekwoon sighed. 'Same to you.’ But in all truthfulness Jaehwan looked well put together. He had abandoned his coat on the rack down the hall where ties and hats hung colorful; muted greys among shining blues. Taekwoon shouldered out of his black cashmere coat and laid it over top Jaehwan’s striking red one.

 

'Don’t be so grumpy,’ Jaehwan pestered lightly. He uncrossed his arms to wrap them about Taekwoon’s shoulders. It was a harmless gesture, but one Taekwoon had half the mind to shrug off. It wouldn’t be beyond Jaehwan to prod him in the ribs, to bite at his shoulders, anything to pull a gasping laugh out of him.

 

On edge, though preoccupied, Taekwoon walked with Jaehwan clinging to him down the aisles of empty theater chairs. The last of the band members were flocking off stage with gleaming gilt colored instruments in hand.

 

'Where’s Hakyeon?’ Taekwoon asked. He pointed toward the stage where the curtains rustled. 'Is he back there? Why aren’t you up there with him?’

 

'Well,  _technically_ , he doesn’t need me.’

 

'I thought you were planning your first production?’ Taekwoon balked as Jaehwan shook his head. 'I thought that’s what I was here for? Moral support?’

 

'Moral support, sure,’ he laughed. 'If you want to get all big-headed about it. But, no, Taekwoonie, not at all. Look.’ On stage a small cluster of students had formed. There were eight boys all together; illuminated by harsh overheads, it was impossible to make any of them out. 'Those are the incoming first years. For next semester. Hakyeon wanted to get a good look at them, you see, and he wanted to pick out a couple to keep his eye on.’

 

'Well,’ Taekwoon huffed. 'This is stupid. I’m going back to the dorms.’

 

'Hold on—’ Jaehwan grabbed him around the waist, laughing as he said: 'You’re impossible. Just stay a while. I don’t want to be here alone. Hakyeon would be so upset if we left, do you want to upset him?’

 

'I’m the one that should be upset.’ He had already lost; he knew. Jaehwan was hauling him toward the empty seats, their hands clasped together as if he thought Taekwoon would run away, bolting from the auditorium as if fire burned his heels.

 

'I don’t want to stay here for this,’ he complained. They were in the front row. It felt as if they were the only two in all of the theater, for other students sat close to the entrance doors; high on the terrace, away from the blinding glare of stage lights. 'I have a paper due next week. I don’t really want to do it either, so I should get started on it soon.’

 

'Are you still talking?’ Jaehwan said flatly. His eyes sparkled black as he caught Taekwoon’s weighty glare. 'Oh, you are! Well, why don’t you shut up now and watch?’ He reached over the short space between them and squeezed Taekwoon’s knee.

 

'I’m only joking,’ he said quietly as Taekwoon, spurned, turned away with hands gripped into weak fists. 'Don’t look at me that way. Listen, you’re going to love it, I just know it. You want to know why?’ He smiled, 'Well, do you?’

 

'Fine.’

 

'They’ll be starting off with  _The Waste Land_. Isn’t that something? Don’t you like that poem? I thought you did.’

 

Taekwoon cleared his throat. 'I do.’ Animosity had dispersed into timid interest as the lights dimmed gently; Jaehwan watched Taekwoon, utterly satisfied with himself.

 

'Shut up,’ Taekwoon scolded.

 

'Don’t be a baby.’

 

'Why would they read Eliot anyway? What can they learn from reciting poetry?’

 

'Tone, mostly,’ Jaehwan said matter-of-factly. 'Hakyeon wants to see who has the proper tone for introductions, you understand? Why do you act like you’ve totally lost all knowledge of the theater?’

 

'Because,’ Taekwoon said equably, 'I have.’

 

The curtains drew back; music swelled lowly from a disc player by the edge of the theater—utterly unprofessional, Taekwoon thought—as Jaehwan whispered behind his hand, 'You’re a big ol’ baby.’

 

On stage, a boy no older than seventeen had stepped up gripping firmly a ragged copy of  _The Waste Land_. It was then the auditorium ceased movement. The room, laden with silence, became a tomb of discourse as the young boy—incredibly quiet—recited the first stanza of Eliot’s poem. It seemed to go on forever this way. Each person presented himself with the same verse, the same monotonous tone. Taekwoon, grown weary, leaned close to Jaehwan’s side.

 

He said, 'I’m going backstage.’

 

'What for?’

 

'I’m tired of sitting.’

 

'It’s just started,’ Jaehwan sighed. But however unimpressed he was by Taekwoon’s restlessness, he followed without qualm. They slumped over like hunchbacks toward the large mahogany curtains, up the enamel wood steps that lead past the young men to where Hakyeon stood, equably irritated as Taekwoon felt.

 

'I thought they wanted to join theater,’ Hakyeon despaired. 'None of them are very good.’

 

'They’re trying,’ Jaehwan offered. 'I wasn’t very good my first year either.’

 

'No, I suppose you weren’t.’

 

With a scoff, he scolded: 'I was only trying to make you feel better. You didn’t have to agree.’

 

Taekwoon rapped his knuckles lightly against the side of Jaehwan’s head. 'Oh, who’s the baby now? You were just fine your first year.’

 

'It doesn’t matter,’ Hakyeon whined quietly. He held a copy of  _The Waste Land_  between both his hands; gripping this small book as if his life depended on it. 'I can’t use any of them. I don’t really think so. I mean, even if they come in for practice, how do I know they’ll take it seriously?’

 

'How do you know anyone will,’ Taekwoon said, disinterested. He turned toward the stage, unable to find reason to stay any longer.

 

'You’re of  _no_  help.’

 

'I’m not trying to be.’

 

'Isn’t he just lovely?’ Jaehwan said. 'Remind me why we like him?’

 

Taekwoon laughed despite his growing despondency. He careened forward and jabbed an elbow into Jaehwan’s back. 'Why don’t you get up there with them, then? Show them how to act?’

 

It was then, in sudden flourish of movement, that the back doors of the auditorium burst open so like the horned gates of  _Sweeney Among the Nightingales._  Therein stood a boy, wide-eyed and tremulous, staring at the three of them as their joined attention fell upon him.

 

He balked, then stepped forward.

 

'Can we help you?’ said Hakyeon.

 

'Sorry,’ the boy stammered. 'I got lost on campus.’

 

He continued to speak, explaining that the buildings all looked so similar, that he had followed the university band back toward commons and had figured out his mistake far too late. But as he spoke, Taekwoon—reeling back on the heels of his boots—could no more decipher the weight of his words than of the meticulous beating of his own heart.

 

'Are you Hongbin?’ Hakyeon asked. He was looking over a clipboard. 'You’re the only one that hasn’t signed in.’

 

'That’s right,’ he said. 'Lee Hongbin. I’m really sorry about that.’

 

_Hongbin_ , Taekwoon thought. Who was he if not a simple boy dressed in faded tweed? But he was, by every regard, impossibly handsome. Taekwoon pointedly looked away as Hongbin’s gaze caught his own.

 

'Here,’ Hakyeon was saying, 'I have your book. Go on and wait here—’ he pointed to a spot at the back of the line— 'you’ll read after him. Yes, that boy right there, in the green sweater. I want you to read the first verse of  _The Waste Land_  as well as you can.’

 

'Only the first verse?’ Hongbin inquired. 'Because I’m not really familiar with this one, but I do know  _Ash-Wednesday_  by heart.’

 

'By heart?’ Taekwoon said, impressed.

 

'Yes, do you know it?’

 

Under ordinary circumstances, Taekwoon might have scoffed. He might have rolled his eyes and laughed, because  _of course_  he knew it. He knew just about everything by Eliot. But this boy, so lithe and large eyed, looked at him with such genuine curiosity that Taekwoon, taken aback, could only nod.

 

'I do,’ he said a beat too late. Already Hongbin was making his way toward the line, leaving Taekwoon spellbound.

 

'What’s that look for?’ Jaehwan asked, rather coldly. 'You look stricken.’

 

'No,’ Taekwoon told him. 'I’m not. I’m just—I was surprised.’

 

'By a little boy who reads all the same depressing poems as you? Wonderful. Can we go back to our seats now? Or did you still want to leave?’ Jaehwan pulled at the elbow of Taekwoon’s shirtsleeve. 'If Hakyeon’s lost hope, then we don’t really need to stay any longer.’

 

'No, we’ll stay.’ Taekwoon looked at Hakyeon and asked, 'If you want us to?’

 

'It’s up to you. Jaehwan’s right, you know, I don’t think there’s a reason to stay now.’

 

'Alright.’ Jaehwan clapped his hands quietly. He rubbed his palms together and said, 'We’ll get something to eat. It’s early, so commons won’t be open yet, but we can—’

 

'I think I’ll stay.’ Taekwoon headed down the small staircase leading back to the aisles of seats. 'You go on ahead though, if you’re hungry.’

 

But Jaehwan followed nonetheless, appearing annoyed. He huffed through the readings; one leg crossing restlessly over the other, back and forth like a tired rendition of  _can-can_. He wriggled low in his seat, he pestered Taekwoon lightly; but as Hongbin stepped forth some moments later, Taekwoon plumb forgot about the boy by his side and all the other people spread throughout the auditorium. There was nothing but the glowing yellow lights and Hongbin’s upturned, eager face that reflected the sallow glow and turned it into something beautiful.

 

'Because I do not hope to turn again,’ he began—

__  
  


_Because I do not hope_  
  
_Because I do not hope to turn_

 

 

_Desiring this man’s gift and this man’s scope—_  
  
_I no longer strive to strive towards such things_

 

  
The world grew dim as the earth quaked oceanic beneath Taekwoon’s feet.

 

 

_Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?_  
  
_Why should I mourn—_  
  


 

His heart wavered and burst as if ship-wrecked in the midst of living; he felt faint as Hongbin’s voice grew, as blood bolted through him, warm like the breathy tones of Hongbin’s tenebrous voice.

 

'I can’t believe you,’ Jaehwan whispered against the shell of Taekwoon’s ear. 'You’re practically drooling over this kid.’

 

'Oh, he’s not that young.’

 

'Sure he is. They’re all high school students.’

 

'Well, we weren’t in high school very long ago.’

 

'No, but—’

 

Taekwoon raised a single finger and placed it gently against his own mouth. 'Hush,’ he whispered. 'Wait until he’s finished.’

 

'Well, I’m going to go.’

 

'Yes, fine. I’ll meet you at commons.’

 

Taekwoon thought perhaps Jaehwan had lingered around. He could feel his presence like the storm clouds outside the auditorium, but because he never turned away from the stage as Hongbin strolled across it, bright as flashing lights and just as mesmerizing ( _There—_ he called _—where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again_!) _,_  he never knew for certain. What Taekwoon did know was as Hongbin exited left, he yearned to follow him; to tell him just how wonderful he had been.

 

Backstage, where Hakyeon watched thoughtfully, Taekwoon swooned under his breath: 'Wasn’t he lovely?’

 

'Who?’

 

'Hongbin,’ he said agitated. 'You didn’t think so?’

 

'Oh, I did. I do. Yes,’ Hakyeon looked over his shoulder as the incoming new years wandered about the stage unsure of themselves.

 

'Well, you should have him come back then. To read again. With you, this time. Without all the others around.’

 

'You really think so? You didn’t think…well, that he was lacking something?’

 

Taekwoon scoffed. 'No.’

 

It was humor reflected in Hakyeon’s eyes. The faintest curl of his dark mouth. 'I’ll talk to him.’

 

'Let me do it.’

 

'Yes—’ he laughed, 'alright.’ He called after Taekwoon with a half wave of his hand: 'What is today? Is it Tuesday?’ He paused. 'No, it’s Wednesday isn’t it?’ Then, as Taekwoon nodded, growing bored, he said: 'Tell him to come back Friday. This Friday about three.’

 

He found Hongbin near the back door, head bowed deeply over a book. Taekwoon couldn’t see the title, and it lacked a dust cover. In fact, it lacked any cover at all. It was a simple velvet black book that appeared large in Hongbin’s small hands, nondescript and possibly of no interest, but it was the idea Hongbin was knowledgeable that had Taekwoon’s heart skipping forward.

 

Hongbin startled away from the book before Taekwoon could make his presence known. They stood, watching one another, for one incredibly long second. Then Taekwoon tried to smile and felt himself grimace.

 

'Can you come back Friday?’ he said softly. 'For another reading?’

 

Hongbin showed neither sign of excitement or disdain. 'Really?’ He closed his book and pinned it beneath his arm. 'Are you Hakyeon?’

 

'No. I’m Taekwoon.’

 

'I don’t think I’ve heard of you.’ He offered his hand; small and warm, as delicate as glass between Taekwoon’s grip. 'Are you part of the theater crew?’

 

'Not exactly.’ He waited. 'Well, not at all, really. I was a while ago. Now I just…’ What did he do? Hang around for no real reason? 'I come to the meetings sometimes.’

 

He feared Hongbin would ask further questions: was he a fan of theater?—not anymore—what was his favorite production?—nothing in particular, but surely he’d say something terribly mundane, like  _King Lear, Othello, Much Ado About Nothing—_ that in his haste to steer clear of these questions, he motioned to the book Hongbin held and asked: 'What is that?’

 

'Oh.’ He blushed. 'Nothing.’

 

To Taekwoon’s brief shock, he handed him the book. The light glinted off the silvery words across the spine:  _Wind, Sand and Stars_. 'I’ve read this.’

 

'You have? I don’t really care for it.’

 

'That’s a shame.’

 

Hongbin regarded him expressionlessly. Then, with the quirk of a smile, he said: 'You like reading, don’t you? I do too, don’t think the wrong thing. I guess I’m particular.’

 

_There’s nothing wrong with that_ , Taekwoon wanted to say, along with countless other things. He wanted to share his favorite poets and the books he kept in his dorm, the ones he kept under his bed for fear of losing them. He wanted to tell Hongbin that he had recited  _The Waste Land_  so beautifully that the only thing Taekwoon could think of doing tonight was going back to his room to read again the collection of T.S. Eliot among others. But he could, of course, say none of these things.

 

Instead, he handed the book back and said: 'Hakyeon wants you here at three.’ He tried to laugh pleasantly, but it came out haltingly; a little ugly. 'So try not to get lost again?’

 

Hongbin blushed again. A deep dark shade of red. 'I’ll try my best.’

 

That was it, Taekwoon realized. He had no reason to stay and linger, to blunder over words he wished to say but knew that he would never. But it was of incredible force that he smiled and turned away, walking back toward the exiting steps of the stage.

 

Beside Hakyeon, he said, 'He knows.’

 

'Good. Why don’t you go get something to eat? I’ll meet you and Jaehwan later, at the dorms.’

 

'I’ll be gone later,’ Taekwoon said fairly easy. He looked over his shoulder in hopes of spotting Hongbin again, but he had gone. 'I have a paper due.’

 

'The library then?’

 

'Yes.’

 

He patted Hakyeon’s shoulder politely and bid farewell. Outside, the rain had lifted and the sky stretched autumn blue, as if there had never been a cloud in sight. His coat was heavy, too much for weather like this, but he kept it on with his hands bunched in the pockets, wandering campus toward commons.

 

  
'So what happened to your boy?’ Jaehwan later asked after dinner had finished and they had taken to the library across campus. 'The one you were losing your head over.’

 

Taekwoon refrained from a sharp remark. He shrugged with one shoulder.

 

'Hmm? He didn’t make the cut?’

 

'Oh, I think he did. He’s coming back Friday for another read.’

 

'You’re kidding.’

 

Taekwoon peered up from his paper. He had worked on it for well over an hour and had nothing to show for it. It depressed him greatly. 'You didn’t think he was good?’

 

'Well, good, sure. But enough to be accepted in early? For Hakyeon’s performances? I don’t know about that.’

 

Taekwoon looked back at his paper; words scraped up and placed haphazardly together. 'Hakyeon thought he was swell. Why don’t you come Friday too? You can read with him. He’ll need someone to practice with.’

 

'Please.’ Then, with ostensible realization, Jaehwan barked: ’ _You’re_ going? On your own accord? To a scene reading?’

 

'What of it?’

 

'Well—’ he laughed disbelievingly. It wasn’t a harsh sound, nor one that Taekwoon would take particular offense to, but it was a laugh meant to be sarcastic all the same. 'Have you grown an interest in the performing arts suddenly? Are you going to start taking classes again?’

 

'If you keep being unbearable like this, I’m leaving.’

 

'Unbearable?’ Jaehwan scoffed. 'You think I’m  _unbearable_?’

 

Beneath the table, Taekwoon jabbed the toe of his shoe into the side of Jaehwan’s leg. Laughing between his words, he said, 'What’s going on? What’s your deal?’

 

'There’s no deal. I’m just curious.’

 

'Curious of what?’

 

'Why you’re acting as if you care about the theater now. Are you afraid he won’t like you if you don’t show interest?’

 

'No, not really.’ Taekwoon pushed his books aside. With a hand in his coat pocket he fingered his lighter, the pack of lucky strike cigarettes. 'I just want to see him again. I won’t be able to unless I go to those rehearsals.’

 

'And if you never see him again? What of that?’

 

Taekwoon was silent. Then he shrugged. 'I’ll probably never stop thinking about him.’ He returned to his paper, blotted ink marks along the margins where he had let the pen bleed. He cursed beneath his breath, scrubbing away distilled puddles like pools of blue along white pages; he noticed when Jaehwan rose from the table, but paid no mind to where he went.

 

It wasn’t until Jaehwan failed to return that Taekwoon, focused on the paper at hand, flipped through his cellphone to jot down a text. _Where did you run off to?_ it read. But when no reply came, and the night turned dark outside the library windows, Taekwoon forgot about the lack of response. He even forgot, for just a moment, the boy from the auditorium. He closed his books a quarter after ten that evening and dragged himself tiredly across campus. But it was as he passed the eastern meadow, white-washed beneath the glaring moonlight, he heard Hakyeon’s familiar lax tone call to him. 'Already finished, then?’

 

'Yes.’ Taekwoon lit a cigarette. 'It’s late.’

 

'Jaehwan wants to meet at the bars.’

 

'Really?’ Taekwoon checked his phone. 'He hasn’t said a word to me.’

 

'Must have forgotten to.’

 

But this was impossible to imagine.

 

'Are you coming?’ Hakyeon wondered.

 

'I don’t think so. I have French early in the morning.’ He pondered a moment. 'Since Jaehwan didn’t mention the bars to me, don’t mention seeing me to him.’

 

'Why? Are you two having another spat?’

 

'No,’ Taekwoon laughed. 'He’s been in bad spirits, but nothing new. Besides, I want to meet with you Friday. With Hongbin. I’d rather not lose tomorrow to a hangover.’

 

'Oh?’ This seemed to strike Hakyeon as funny. A smile enveloped his shadowed face, lit only by the sky; he spoke more to himself than to Taekwoon as he said: 'That explains a bit of everything, then. Don’t worry,’ he added cheerfully. 'I won’t breathe a word to Jaehwan. He probably thinks you’ve already gone to bed anyway.’

 

It was after Hakyeon turned to leave that Taekwoon wondered aloud, 'What are you having Hongbin read on Friday?’

 

'I haven’t decided yet,’ he called over his shoulder. Still walking, his voice floated back to Taekwoon light as air and fading quickly: 'I was thinking  _Venus and Adonis_. If you plan to attend too, then you best prepare yourself for that.’

 

'I’d like to read with him.’

 

Hakyeon stilled, only for a moment. 'Then you should be there early. Before him.’

 

'Who should I read as?’

 

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Hakyeon called: 'Adonis, of course. Who else?’

 

No one else, Taekwoon thought blatantly; for what other role would Hongbin be perfect for if not Venus?

 

His heart danced wildly, cigarette forgotten as he bound through campus to Perkins House, his bones watery with exhaustion but his mind waywardly afloat. He climbed oak carved steps to the top floor where his dorm resided black and empty, reciting by poor memory _—though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see, yet should I be in love by touching thee._

  
Friday came at a slow crawl. Taekwoon had had breakfast in commons with Jaehwan sulking across the table, eating peach halves from a maraschino bowl. Jaehwan said little and left before the kitchen closed, quite uncharacteristically himself; he blamed it on poor sleep, an overdue paper for his Classics course. Taekwoon thought better than to pry.

 

After breakfast, once back to his room in Perkins House, Taekwoon wilted over a borrowed copy of  _Venus and Adonis_. He had spent the day before reading, then reading again, the passages before him, growing tired as he was wary of the upcoming rehearsal. It was a silly thing to be worried over. How many years had he spent in the very auditorium of his lesser school, reciting passages opposite Hakyeon— _Bye Bye Birdie; Hello, Dolly!; Little Shops of Horrors_? How was it this role, so finitely small, would pull from him a cataract of worry?

 

'It doesn’t even matter if you aren’t any good,’ Hakyeon said, later, after Taekwoon sought him out. It was late afternoon, nearing two, when Taekwoon had looked out his dorm window and saw Hakyeon in the meadow below. He had called to him and tonelessly, a little tired, Hakyeon had called back: 'Well, are you going to just shout from a window, or come down and talk?’

 

It was obvious his lack of interest, but still: Taekwoon leaned forward with all the inquiry of a young child. He hesitated. 'What if he thinks I’m terrible?’

 

'Who?’

 

'Hongbin.’

 

Hakyeon peered up at him, shielding his eyes with the flat of his hand. 'Do you really care so much? You’ll be fine.’

 

'Yes,’ he said in response to neither comment. He fiddled with the small book between his hands. 'I’ll go now, in case he’s shown up early.’

 

'Tell him I’ll be a moment. I need to get Jaehwan.’ He explained with a sigh, for Taekwoon only stared—wondering, honestly, what Jaehwan could be necessary for: 'I can’t base his reading off one exchange. Maybe he’ll be wonderful with you, and terrible with someone else. And anyway,’ Hakyeon rose, brushing off the seat of his pants, 'Jaehwan is second lead so I’ll read with Hongbin once, then so will he. It’s only fair.’

 

'Fair,’ Taekwoon repeated. He looked toward the sky, shielding his own eyes from the glaring sun. Then he pocketed the book of  _Venus and Adonis_  as well as his hands. 'I’ll be off, then.’

 

'Yes, keep him company while he waits.’ Hakyeon grinned; it was a cheeky curl of his full mouth, as if he had been able to peer right into the center of Taekwoon’s head and found there: all the flutters of butterfly wings which filled him full with apprehension.

  
It was early when Taekwoon arrived, a quarter to three, but already Hongbin was perched on the edge of the stage. A game of solitaire was spread out across the scarred oak floor.

 

He lifted his head at the sound of the back door creaking open, then closed.

 

'Hello,’ Hongbin said quietly, then turned back to his game.

 

'Hello.’

 

'How are you?’

 

Careful of the cards, Taekwoon meandered the stage and crouched low at Hongbin’s side. 'Just fine. And you?’

 

'The same.’ He brushed a hand through his hair; dark waves like loose curls falling across his forehead. He shined beneath the lights like crystal; gleaming and lovely. 'Do you want to play a game?’

 

'No, that’s alright. You go on.’

 

'Well, I’m stuck.’ Hongbin gathered the cards in a haphazard bundle. 'I’ll lay out another game and you can help me.’ He looked up from beneath his impossibly dark fringe. 'If you want.’

 

As Hongbin shuffled the cards—a terribly halting shuffle that brought a smile to Taekwoon’s otherwise stolid face—Taekwoon caught himself staring, quite blatantly, at the way Hongbin’s fingers gripped the cards. He had small knuckles and short fingers; he slipped twice before laughing to himself and declaring,  _I’ve never been very good with cards_. It didn’t seem important to point out that perhaps if he used a smaller brand, one that wouldn’t dwarf his fingers so, then he would better play with them. But Taekwoon merely wished to say this, as well as many other things. He would not, of course, say anything at all.

 

Hongbin split the deck in half and in silence, the two of them hunched over the game, placed cards in sporadic order across the floor. It wasn’t exactly playing by the rules, but Taekwoon was far too keen to mention it.

 

'Did Hakyeon tell you what you’re reading from?’

 

'No.’ Hongbin placed a six of hearts onto a seven of cloves. 'Do you know?’

 

'Yes. This.’ Taekwoon produced his pocketbook.

 

'Oh —I’m terrible at Shakespeare. Who will I be?’

 

'Venus.’

 

Hongbin blushed. 'Well, alright. And who will be my Adonis?’

 

Taekwoon said, terribly embarrassed, with a crack in his tone, 'I will.’ He looked away as Hongbin caught his eye. It was then the air grew heavy, like the static before a storm; all the space between them became palpable as Hongbin laid the book in his lap. His ears were a lovely shade of pink.

 

'Would you like to read through the lines before they get here?’ Taekwoon wondered, still looking away. 'We can spare a few minutes, if you want. Unless you feel you don’t need to?’

 

'Well, I dunno if I need to.’ Hongbin pushed off the edge of the stage, landing on the soles of his feet; he had left his shoes beside the stairs and wore only a pair of kitten ankle socks. 'But I wouldn’t mind it.’

 

After instructing Taekwoon further up stage, far from where he stood beside the stairs, Hongbin said: 'You open the first scene.’

 

And thus: their production began. Taekwoon felt foolish alone on stage, watching as Hongbin drew closer, his voice low and sultry in the doomed quiet of the auditorium. He spoke clearly, with a throaty intonation that struck Taekwoon wonderfully. He called to Taekwoon— _Adonis!—_ with a hand splayed open across his heart. He was but a dream; striking beauty so like the carved marble of the Ancient world.

 

'Adonis will not hunt today,’ Taekwoon murmured as his hand found Hongbin’s beneath the warmth of the stage lights.

 

'No, my shepherd'—astonished by the depth of Hongbin’s voice, Taekwoon thought it a cadence one could fall asleep to, lulled like the waves of the Yellow Sea—'haste away.’

  
It would seem that after this first encounter of having Hongbin within his reach, Taekwoon found it an impossibility to miss evening rehearsals. He spent weeks within the deep acoustics of the auditorium. Overcome by voices raised like a brash assortment of instruments thrown together, hard and omnipresent even as the soft voices died away into echo. He was not, after years of tailing after the theater crew, very acquainted with the acting club. But there was, of course, the very few people he knew: Jaehwan who read with an unmatched fervor; Hakyeon, sweeping across the floor in movement so fluid he careened as waves would within uncharted waters. Then there was Hongbin, so very quiet in comparison, but able to recite from memory alone the long and pungent passages of Homer. His beauty was unrivaled, so much so that it seemed even the light bowed beneath his grace.

 

They would read and with their words came unimaginable passion so potent it would swell inside Taekwoon at an alarming rate. Forced to turn away—for sometimes this passion fell flat and was why Taekwoon could find little appeal in theater—he spent most evenings buried between the rumpled pages of  _David Copperfield_ , of  _Franny and Zooey_ ; alone within a darkened theater. It was only as rehearsals ended—always a quarter to five; this was when evening classes across campus were called to attention—that Taekwoon was able to step forth from the endless rows of empty seats so like a cast away wading a lonesome island, to stand by the stage steps in wait. He would, without fail, tell Hongbin how wonderfully he had done.

 

It was during one of these times—a Friday, so clear in memory but of no real importance—that Hongbin turned to Taekwoon in wonder.

 

He asked, 'What are you doing right now?’

 

Taekwoon stalled. 'What do you mean?’

 

'Right now, after practice. What are you doing?’

 

'Well.’ It was the beginning of the weekend; days stretched thin with nowhere to be. Certainly, he was doing nothing. 'I don’t know. Why?’

 

'I was going to stay with a friend this weekend, because—well, it gets a little tiring taking the bus all the time. All the way back to the city, you know? So I was going to stay with him, here in town.’

 

Taekwoon waited, perplexed, and growing excited. 'So you’ll be around?’

 

'Sort of.’ He kicked at the ground, a listless motion so unlike the orthodox manner of Hakyeon, of Jaehwan, who would lose his head if ever his Belvedere shoes were to be scuffed. 'He doesn’t get home until late and I’ve nothing to do until then.’

 

Hongbin looked up, watchful gaze that met Taekwoon’s unhindered. 'Do you want to do something with me?’ he asked.

 

Of course Taekwoon did. His heart leapt and unfurled like a flower in spring; so ready to accept this offer, his hand twitched with a desire to touch Hongbin’s arm, the padded shoulder of his overcoat.

 

Able only to contain himself by sheer blessing of the Gods, Taekwoon told him: 'Yes, I’d like to. Very much.’

  
It was only because Hongbin wasn’t hungry that they skipped dinner altogether and later found themselves, far after dark, on the deserted roads leading out into the country.

 

'My grandmother has an estate,’ Taekwoon explained before they had left. 'It’s a nice house. There’s a lake and den and a fireplace. We can order in if you’re hungry later.’ Hongbin had been so piqued by interest he had jumped at the offer at once; hands trembling where he cradled them within his lap.

 

But as they drove along that winding road out into far reaching fields of yellowing grass, Taekwoon wondered what he would do once alone with this boy. Hongbin had been the only person on his mind for far longer than he was willing to admit; and to have him now, alone and all his, had Taekwoon’s nerves seizing.

 

'Are you alright?’ Hongbin inquired softly. The radio was a dull sound overshadowed by the roaring engine, the patter of pebbles against the car’s hood.

 

'Fine. It’s just hard to see at night.’

 

'Do you need glasses?’

 

Taekwoon turned on the high-beams; the road unraveled in bluing white. 'No, I don’t think so.’ He laughed. 'I would hope not.’

 

Hongbin looked out the window. 'Are we almost there?’ Further up the road there was a fading light. It shined yellow; a wobbling orb that seemed to dance between the spaces of trees.

 

'Yes, you see that up there?’ Taekwoon pointed. 'That light. It’s the light on the top of the house, up on the widow’s walk. My grandmother leaves it on because she’s afraid to leave the house all the way up here, alone.’

 

'Who wouldn’t be,’ Hongbin murmured quietly. 'It’s so quiet out here.’

 

'But it’s beautiful. It’s a shame we didn’t come when it was light out. You’d see so much more.’

 

He felt Hongbin’s gaze fall over him like a fluttering touch of fingertips. It was as Taekwoon pulled up to the end of the road where it seemed the road stopped completely (there was nothing past the house but miles upon miles of open field; where the egrets gathered in late spring), that Hongbin turned his full attention to Taekwoon.

 

He stammered as he spoke. Unsure of himself and unafraid to show it. He smoothed a palm over the front of his dress shirt and said: 'Well, since it’s late and, and well we’ve barely arrived, maybe I should call my friend? Tell him that I won’t be back tonight?’

 

'Is that what you want?’

 

Hongbin looked toward the house. It stood as silence as the roads of Pripyat. 'If we stay here tonight, then I’ll be able to see everything in the morning, won’t I? You said it would be nice then. So.’ He shrugged with his hands in his lap. 'Yeah, I’d like to stay.’

 

The wind blew as Taekwoon opened the car door. He was certain as he rounded to Hongbin’s side, reaching for his closed door in haste, that somehow he had simply not woken up that morning. The wind was cold and smelled of pine, it carried the dampness of the lake, and yet: he was sure somewhere, somehow, he was asleep, dreaming it all up.

 

'It isn’t very cold, but I can light a fire if you want,’ Taekwoon said with newfound confidence. If this was going to happen, if he was to spend the night alone with the one boy he hardly fathomed to be real, then he would make the most of it. He took Hongbin’s coat and hung it by a peg near the front door, then took his shoes and placed them alongside his own. He gave Hongbin a paper with all the restaurants that would deliver so far out of the city—at a costly price, of course—then instructed that he could order whatever he wanted.

 

'Tomorrow, after breakfast, we can go to the lake. There’s a rowboat up there. We can take the boat out on the lake and you’ll see how pretty it is here.’

 

Hongbin smiled kindly. His cheeks brimmed with color as they dimpled. 'You’ll have to be careful, alright? I can’t swim.’

 

'I was always going to be careful,’ Taekwoon told him. 'But I’ll be twice as careful now.’

 

They ordered from a small Italian restaurant: bruschetta; Parmesan risotto; a single slice of tiramisu that Hongbin turned his nose up to. He didn’t like desserts very much, he told Taekwoon, but he would try it if it meant so much.

 

'No, that’s alright,’ Taekwoon smiled. 'Do you want wine? Coffee? There’s an espresso machine around here somewhere.’

 

'I don’t drink coffee.’

 

'Wine it is then.’

 

He went down into the cellar, realizing partway into the dark that Hongbin was following. Over his shoulder Taekwoon said, 'You don’t have to come with me.’

 

'I want to see.’

 

So they stood beside the towers of wine. Chateau Margaux; Cabernet Sauvignon; Sauvignon Blanc; endless rows of Port Wine in varying flavors of caramel and ruby. All of which meant nothing to Taekwoon. He didn’t like wine much, he explained; but if he was to drink in excess, he would drink wine because it never left him hungover.

 

'And if it tastes OK,’ he said, admiring a bottle of Port, 'then I’ll drink it. But not the whole bottle, you see? Not like Jaehwan. If you gave him one of these, he’d polish it off in twenty minutes. Then you’d wonder where he ran off to, because he would be outside, reciting Hamlet to absolutely nobody but himself.’

 

Hongbin breathed a sighing laugh. 'You’re close, aren’t you? You and Jaehwan.’

 

'Of course.’

 

'And Hakyeon too?’

 

'I’ve known them since we were kids.’ Taekwoon replaced the Port Wine and took a bottle of Malbec. 'Here, let’s drink this. If you don’t like it, we’ll come back down and grab another.’

 

But Hongbin protested. His father owned a winery in southern Europe but because he wasn’t partial to the taste, Hongbin could only claim difference between red and white. He wasn’t particular to any one type of flavor. 'I mean, it’s obvious when it’s dry, but they’re really all the same.’

 

'Do you tell your father that?’ Taekwoon laughed. 'What does he think of that?’

 

Without comment but smiling gently, Hongbin pushed through the dining room where the open packages of take-away food still lay spread out across the table. He took the wine glasses Taekwoon had brought down for their drinks and motioned to the narrow staircase leading to the upstairs.

 

'And what’s up there?’ he wondered.

 

'The library.’

 

'Can we go there?’

 

Taekwoon smiled, 'Of course,’ and followed Hongbin as he lead them up. The library was Taekwoon’s favorite place to be in the whole estate. But because he hadn’t visited since before the summer, dust sparkled like drying dew across bookends, the lid of the Baldwin. He left the Malbec on the back of the piano, then climbed the winding stairs up the balcony to open the windows; and at once the breeze fell in and upset the dust.

 

'Normally it wouldn’t be in such bad condition,’ he explained, embarrassed. But Hongbin, who was still downstairs beside the piano, simply didn’t acknowledge the comment.

 

He called up, 'Do you know how to play?’

 

'A little.’

 

'Why don’t you play something?’

 

Taekwoon rolled his eyes. 'I’d rather not.’

 

'Please?’ Hongbin offered a startling smile; one so handsome it was as if the sun had reached down and kissed him. 'I promise I won’t make any fun of you if you make a mistake.’

 

That was hardly the issue, of course. But Taekwoon allowed the discussion to settle. He started down the stairs with a timid grace, so suddenly afraid as if the world would tilt beneath him just to make him fall. He filled their glasses too full, able only to lift his from the piano after sipping off the rim.

 

Hongbin made a chortling sound, so amused by the amount of wine his glass was able to hold. 'I didn’t think I’d get drunk tonight.’

 

'If you drink it slowly, really make it last, then you won’t get drunk. Now what do you want to hear?’

 

'Anything. Play something you’re good at.’

 

Taekwoon would admit, rather proudly, that there was quite a few things he was good at. Take for instance how he had translated on his own the complete works of Nathaniel Hawthorne when he was fifteen; his ability to recite by heart the first book of  _Paradise Lost_ ; how, in youth, his grandfather had taught him to whittle, and kept away in his bedroom back home was a set of carved painted blue jays. But to find one song that he could play well, much better than any other, to even claim that he was a good enough player to carry out this task at all was of great difficulty. His fingers balked over the keyboard. It had been years since he last practiced. But it seemed, by complete luck, after a striking bout of silence, he found himself trilling along the keys, piecing together a familiar melody that was not quite right. Something was off. But then it fell together at once; his fingers found notes he could no longer identify, but knew all the same that it was Rubinstein; one of the Nocturnes. Which one exactly he would never remember.

 

As Taekwoon played, Hongbin rounded the piano. He had drank a great deal of his wine already, but his movements were paced. With one hand, he continued to drink, as the other trailed over the lid of the Baldwin, following cracks along the paint for the piano was quite old. He peered over the edge to watch Taekwoon’s hands.

 

For a moment that lasted a lifetime there was nothing but the music, the wind through the shutters, and Hongbin: watching in silent admiration.

 

Then Taekwoon stopped abruptly. His face filled with color as he said, 'You’re awfully quiet.’

 

'I’m not gonna talk over your playing,’ Hongbin laughed. 'What’s the matter? Too serious?’

 

'There’s a radio up there. On the balcony.’ Taekwoon rose at once. 'We’ll listen to music instead.’ As he walked up the stairs, he grew grateful for the space now put between them. His heart hammered mercilessly inside his head, thrumming like the drums of a death march. If Hongbin was to be so close all night, he was certain he would die.

 

His grandfather’s records were utterly outdated, and the ones left behind by Hakyeon were of no better selection, and because the player was kept in an upstairs bedroom, there was only the radio and tapes left behind; Sinatra, Doris Day, Bing Crosby. With a grimace masked as a smile, Taekwoon picked a tape and let it play.

 

Hongbin watched him descend the stairs, a dimple pressed deeply into one cheek as he smiled and turned away. 'Didn’t peg you as a jazz man.’

 

'I’m not,’ Taekwoon said too quickly. He was floundering. Deep pull of wine and a stained mouth. He sat astride the piano bench facing Hongbin, feeling the warmth of him radiate like fire.

 

They spoke of nothing, but instead sat and shared the silence as the radio crooned  _Lover man, oh, where can you be?_

 

Later he would blame the wine, pin his boldness on the looseness of his own joints, but as the song continued and the wind blew softly through the cracks in the shutters, Taekwoon lay his cheek atop Hongbin’s shoulder. It felt only natural to sit this way; the lull of Hongbin’s breathing like the ebb of the wind.

 

'Do you want to know something funny?’ Hongbin asked softly. The baritone of his voice was deep as the sky. 'I promise you’ll laugh. You’ll say I’m ridiculous, I know it.’

 

'Tell me.’

 

'After I saw you at the auditions and you told me, you remember? You told me you weren’t part of the theater crew? I was so upset, because I thought I’d seen the last of you. Why would you come to the rehearsals if you weren’t interested in the theater, that’s what I wondered.’ He rose from the bench for the bottle of wine. He poured only a small amount, enough to wet his mouth and paint it red.

 

From the bottom of the stairs, he said: 'Then you were there every day and I wanted to talk to you so badly. But I was afraid because you’re always alone and reading—you look so bored, did you know that? You always seem so  _bored._ ’ Hongbin laughed. 'Well, I thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me. That wasn’t the case, was it?’

 

Taekwoon shook his head.

 

'Isn’t that funny?’

 

'A little,’ Taekwoon said. 'But I’ve something funnier.’ He couldn’t help but smile as Hongbin hid away in the palm of his hand. Abandoning the bench, Taekwoon came to stand at the foot of the stairs. Hongbin, a few steps further up, watched him with gleaming spirits. 'The only reason I ever came to those rehearsals was to see you.’

 

'You’re kidding.’

 

'I’m not.’

 

Hongbin laughed and turned away. 'I don’t believe you.’ He went up the stairs as Taekwoon trailed closely behind him. He pushed Taekwoon away halfheartedly, his palm flat against the front of his chest. 'What are the odds of that?’

 

'Well,’ Taekwoon began, very seriously, 'what are the odds of you being here with me, right now?’

 

'Don’t make a big deal out of it.’ He pushed with meaning this time, still smiling but trying desperately to reach the window seat. He was so obviously tipsy, reeling on the heels of his bare feet as he collapsed on the bench.

 

'Whether you believe it or not, it’s true and I mean every word of it. I wanted to see you and watch you perform. I wanted to talk to you just as badly, but I felt like an idiot.’

 

'You  _are_  an idiot,’ Hongbin whispered gently. There was no coldness to his tone; only warmth and light.

 

'That might be true.’ Taekwoon pressed closer. He didn’t take a seat on the bench, but rather hovered very near Hongbin’s face, standing before him. He asked: 'Can this idiot kiss you? Would that be alright?’

 

It seemed then an interminable amount of time passed. A solid moment of nothing but silence and Hongbin’s glowing pink cheeks. He said neither yes or no. In fact, he said nothing at all. He stared up at Taekwoon with growing hesitation until all at once he leaned up into Taekwoon’s space, and pressed a kiss to his open mouth.

 

When he pulled back, the color had drained from his face. 'You weren’t ready for that,’ he said, miserably.

 

'No,’ Taekwoon said back, equably, though more bewildered than anything. He took Hongbin’s face between his hands and told him: 'Let’s try it again,’ and kissed him delicately.

 

Hongbin’s mouth was soft as his skin; his tongue tasting bitterly of wine. He trembled in Taekwoon’s hands as if afraid but as Taekwoon moved away, trying to find room to breathe again, Hongbin followed him as he went.

 

'Let’s build a fire,’ Taekwoon said with his eyes closed, his lips parted, Hongbin’s breath brushing across his mouth. 'I’m afraid there isn’t a television here. My grandmother is very outdated.’

 

But Hongbin said he didn’t mind. So they took to the sitting area where there was the fireplace and a large oxford linen sofa with spiraled armrests and corduroy buttons. Taekwoon played the radio in the far corner. It was tremendously old-fashioned and crackled as it played, but it filled the silence as Taekwoon crouched beside the fireplace, crumpling old newsprint with Hongbin watching.

 

It was before he could light the papers that Hongbin lowered himself beside him. He said nothing at all as he reached for him, a hand on the nape of Taekwoon’s neck, his mouth devouring him.

 

A burst of cold sweat sprouted along Taekwoon’s brow. He wrapped an arm around Hongbin’s middle and urged him closer, unable to breathe under the treacherous thrum of his own beating heart. As he unraveled, able to feel the rise and fall of Hongbin’s chest against his own, the taste of his mouth becoming vaguely familiar, Taekwoon swooned and swooned falling further into the trench of emotion that was Hongbin’s everything.

  
Saturday morning Taekwoon woke with a headache despite not having drank very much the night before; he was incredibly irritated by this. He sulked about the kitchen as Hongbin slept in the guest bedroom upstairs, but because there weren’t any fresh ingredients in the refrigerator he had nothing to make for breakfast. A call was made to the local grocer for a handful of items: mushrooms, eggs, cheese and bread with a quart of milk. He smoked on the porch as he awaited the delivery, the skirt of his robe rustling against morning winds.

 

From the doorway, in a voice both small and groggy, Hongbin asked: 'Have you been up a while?’

 

Taekwoon startled. 'No.’

 

'What are you doing?’

 

'Waiting for our food.’ He lifted his arm, silently beckoning Hongbin closer; and with him within reach, Taekwoon placed his arm about Hongbin’s shoulders. 'I was thinking after breakfast, we could pack a lunch and then go to the lake? That way it won’t be too hot when we’re there?’ He laughed as Hongbin nodded drowsily, rubbing his eyes much like a cat; his hair frazzled.

 

'Still tired?’ Taekwoon asked.

 

'A little. I need a shower.’

 

He showed Hongbin where the bathroom was and told him there wasn’t a working shower, only a clawfoot bathtub as cold and hard as marble. Then he laid out a fresh outfit of old clothes. In honesty, Taekwoon couldn’t tell if the shirts were his own or Jaehwan’s, or perhaps even Hakyeon’s. They had left their belongings behind so often before it was as if they had a whole wardrobe awaiting them when they visited.

 

Hongbin came downstairs a considerable time later wearing shirtsleeves that devoured his hands, a tweed jacket with patched elbows. He sat astride Taekwoon in the breakfast nook, his hand below the table and tapping gently at the side of Taekwoon’s leg. He laid his cheek against Taekwoon’s shoulder, all but curled himself close, picking tiredly at the plate of food.

 

'Something wrong?’

 

'No, nothing,’ Hongbin said. 'Just lazy today.’

 

It was the perfect weather, Taekwoon thought, to laze around all day. It was a great temptation to stay behind, to miss the lake entirely in favor of lying about the yard in wicker lounge chairs with the cool autumn sun beating down. But once outside, their lunch packed in a small basket, Taekwoon took Hongbin’s hand and directed him over the fields, past the withering pine trees where the lake sat between an awning of cypress.

 

'Don’t be scared,’ Taekwoon said softly as he climbed into the boat. Hongbin lingered by the lake’s edge, his shoes kicked off and left in the field. His hands were fisted in his pockets, a nervous gleam in his suddenly flat eyes.

 

'Come on,’ Taekwoon urged with a hand extended. 'I won’t drown you.’

 

At that Hongbin laughed, but it was still a moment before he took Taekwoon’s hand and stepped into the boat. His grip hurt, fingers dug hard into the back of Taekwoon’s hand; the boat ebbed gently and Taekwoon was sure Hongbin was going to fling himself into his lap to grasp at him as if he was dying.

 

'You’ll be fine,’ Taekwoon promised.

 

He rolled his sleeves to the elbow and rowed them out toward the middle of the lake, where pine cones bobbed across the water. It was a glittering blue that day; sparkling waters dirtied by fallen flowers. The oars created soft waves that carried them most of the way. Hongbin, who had been seated on the bench, lowered himself onto the floorboards of the boat. He leaned over the edge with a hand in the water, his cheek pillowed against his forearm.

 

'Kind of feels like a dream doesn’t it?’ he said. 'That sounds a little stupid, but I mean it doesn’t quite feel real.’

 

'Being here?’

 

'Yes. Do you know what I mean?’

 

Taekwoon did. He nodded and turned out toward the lake where egrets waded the shallow banks. His arms ached under the strain of rowing, but as they floated out, he felt a burst of serenity consume him; like walking in a dream somewhere, very far away.

 

'If you aren’t a part of the theater,’ Hongbin began, 'and if you really went there just, well,’ he blushed, 'just to see me, then what is it you do?’

 

'Nothing,’ Taekwoon said, seriously. 'I read a lot, I suppose. I came to Yonsei for the theater crew, but absolutely hated it.’

 

'Why?’

 

'No honest reason. I just didn’t like it anymore.’

 

Hongbin looked out at the water. The sunlight beamed off his tanned face, making his hair appear oily black; shining all over. 'I rather like it.’

 

'That’s good. It’s what you’re majoring in, isn’t it?’

 

'Hmm,’ Hongbin hummed. 'That’s right. But what are  _you_  majoring in?’

 

'The classics. Literature.’ Taekwoon laid the oars on the bottom of the boat; they were far out now, far from the banks and the trilling of birds. 'It’s not a degree I can do a lot with, but I enjoy it.’

 

'That’s what matters, isn’t it?’ Hongbin slipped out of his tweed jacket and laid it beside Taekwoon. He rolled his own sleeves up to his elbows and submerged his hand back into the waters. It was a transparent blue; and Taekwoon could see Hongbin’s fingers wriggle beneath the surface. 'That’s why you liked  _Ash-Wednesday_  so much, huh? And  _Wind, Sand and Stars_ , because you study that sort of stuff all the time.’

 

He looked over his shoulder and into Taekwoon’s eyes. He said: 'I wish I had known this before, because now I feel a little silly for what I said. About  _Wind, Sand and Stars_. Even when I was reciting Eliot, I thought for sure nobody really knew  _Ash-Wednesday_.’ He looked back at the water and said again, 'I feel silly.’

 

'Don’t feel that way, you recited it beautifully. Why are you laughing?’ he went on to ask; for Hongbin had snorted a disbelieving sound. 'What is it?’

 

'You just think so highly of me. I can’t understand why.’

 

'You don’t have to understand.’ Taekwoon wanted to move closer, but he feared rocking the boat, of jolting Hongbin into fear. So he settled for reaching over to take Hongbin’s hand into his own. 'I’m happy enough being here with you. You don’t have to overthink it.’

 

'No, you’re right.’

 

They floated along the water for a while more. Clouds formed and dispersed over the bluing sky, covering the sun and leaving the winds cool. As the water lapped at the boat and the birds flew lowly overhead, Taekwoon told Hongbin of his favorite poems; of Plath and Bukowski, of Siken and Frost and every poet he could memorize by heart. After a while, he broke off into a small monologue of  _The Colossus_ ;  _The Most Beautiful Woman In Town_ , stories of heartache rendered striking under the omnipresent grey of afternoon light.

 

Taekwoon spoke and Hongbin listened and the boat continued to float along the water as Taekwoon lowered himself beside Hongbin, able then to hold him within his side as it seemed he had wanted to for so long.

  
It was nearing dark by the time they left the country. The day had whittled away between late lunch beneath the cypress and dinner in the library where they had listened to old radio dramas Taekwoon’s grandparents had on cassette. By the time it came time to leave Hongbin had buried his face into the column of Taekwoon’s neck and said,  _I don’t really want to go_. Taekwoon understood far too well what Hongbin meant; their solitude was something of a fantasy; their lives submerged into another realm where it was them and no one else, only them for all of time. And as they drew nearer town where the radio played clearer and the sky gave way to artificial light like dawn, buildings tall as trees lighting the way like lanterns across the eastern sea, a loneliness spread within Taekwoon’s gut of hindering depravity.

 

They stopped at the train station where Hongbin was to board the cart that would take him further into the city where his friend rented an apartment. He said it was easier this way. 'Because,’ he said, 'there is already going to be so many questions regarding the strange man who swept me away for the night.’ He smiled rather cheerfully, as if the thought of Taekwoon being such an enigma was something to be proud of. Perhaps, he thought it was.

 

He kissed Taekwoon’s cheek and told him, 'But call me tomorrow and I’ll take the train back here and we can go out. Before I go back to the city on Monday.’ He scrawled a phone number neatly on the inside of Taekwoon’s wrist, numbers spider thin against the tangle of veins beneath his skin.

 

'I don’t want you to go,’ Taekwoon told him.

 

'I don’t want to go either.’

 

'Why don’t you stay? You can stay with me in the dorms.’

 

'Oh, I don’t want to be a bother.’ He shook his head before Taekwoon could ask again. 'Really. It would be weird going through the halls, not knowing anyone. Having to worry about your house attendant? No, I’d rather not.’ He looked over his shoulder as the train pulled in. 'It won’t be long. Not even a full day before I’m back.’

 

It was because Hongbin was of utter, utter certainty that Taekwoon’s nerves untangled. They eased and released his heart which had felt strangled inside him so that it beat normally, a low rhythmic drawl that felt bearable as he leaned down to kiss Hongbin between the eyes.

 

'Call me tonight?’ Hongbin asked. He walked toward the open doors of the train. 'Before you go to bed?’

 

'I will.’

 

'Don’t forget?’

 

'Of course not.’ Taekwoon smiled and waited on the platform with hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his long overcoat. He waited for the train to pull out, waited until it was gone from the terminal and there was nobody left but himself and the soft cloud of smoke that swirled from the lighted tip of his cigarette like ribbons of white silk.

  
It was well after dark by the time Taekwoon arrived at Yonsei. After stopping at the local drug store for a pack of cigarettes, he had pulled through the gas station for a black coffee and to fill his tank. It was there he spotted in the shop’s window a smallish bouquet of flowers. Ice cream tulips the color of eggplants, lavender hydrangea and a single white rose; perfect, he had thought, to greet Hongbin with the following evening. He had bought the flowers, but asked the store keeper to keep them in the refrigerator for him, for fear of wilting. Then he had left with his coffee and his gas as the sky grew damp overhead; the cloudbursts from the country had been swept into town. They lingered cumbrous and dark, like something ugly lying in wait for the right time to strike.

 

He was crossing the eastern meadow when he heard a faint whistling nearby. Off-key, loud; it was a preening sound like the trilling of birds during mating season: frantic and strangely familiar, as if he had heard it once before. But it wasn’t until he crossed the meadow, Perkins House falling into view, that he recognized immediately who it was. It was the laughter, the lilt in tone as they stopped whistling to instead call to him that had Taekwoon shaking his head in wonderment—how had he not recognized sooner?

 

'There you are, my God. I thought you’d run off and died somewhere!’

 

Taekwoon turned toward Jaehwan’s voice, but could not find him in the dark. 'Where are you, then?’

 

'Here—’ He touched Taekwoon’s shoulder and laughed hoarsely as he was shoved away. 'Where have you  _been_? I’ve been all over the place looking for you.’

 

Jaehwan smelled faintly of beer but greatly of wine; it was a lingering scent, like cigarettes on his breath. But if it had not been for the smell, Taekwoon would have been able to tell either way, for Jaehwan’s cheeks were rosy red and the tip of his nose flushed pink. His eyes were heavy as rain clouds.

 

He said, 'Hello?’ and tapped a finger to Taekwoon’s temple. 'Aren’t you going to tell me?’

 

'I was at the estate.’ He passed Jaehwan toward Perkins House. 'I thought a little time away would be nice.’

 

Jaehwan skipped along the concrete path like a child in summer, following Taekwoon as he mounted the stairs toward Perkins. The rain began to fall. It was a faint drizzle which irritated Taekwoon at once. But Jaehwan opened his hands as if to catch the water; his palms white as moonlight. 'Did you have a nice time at least?’

 

'Yes.’

 

'There’s a party going on,’ he said suddenly. 'At Perkins. I dunno if you’ll get through in one piece.’

 

'Is that where you were? Thought you were out looking for me.’

 

'Oh, I needed a break.’

 

'You hate parties.’

 

'Yes. And?’ He wrapped an arm around Taekwoon’s shoulders, pulling him away from the dorms and out toward the meadows where the rain collected on the lawns like dew. 'I left my things in the library. That’s where I was headed before you finally came along. Come with me?’

 

There was an awkwardness to his gait as Jaehwan hurried them across the fields and out of the rain. The library leered tall in the dark, all the windows alight and glittering as stars would in the darkened eves of summer. The rain began to fall quite heavily then. Cold droplets stained Taekwoon’s cheeks, the top of his head; it made the ground slosh and sway like an air deck beneath him, sopping within moments as if the sky had opened up and released the rivers of heaven.

 

'Christ,’ Jaehwan whistled lowly. Once inside he shook his head like a dog, water spraying in every direction. 'Fucking pouring like that, what a burden.’ He walked, swaying lightly, drunk on his feet with a tired, amused grin enveloping his face. It made his eyes wrinkle at the corners. 'We can stay here a minute then, wait for it to pass. Course the party will still be going on by the time we go back. It’s a real rave in there.’

 

Perkins House was a more private dorm than the others; it housed the classics students, most of the liberal arts students and a few from the performing arts. It was a quaint place where smatterings of paint marked the walls, low crooning music from the dorms, most of it tastefully quiet. For there to be a party—one of particular caliber—meant there had to be something to be celebrated. But Taekwoon, for the life of him, couldn’t imagine what it was. It irritated him greatly to know he would be unable to find quiet in his room, that he would be forced through the crowded house kitchen, the laundry felicity, up to the upstairs where romantic trysts would be heard throughout the night.

 

He grumbled. He followed Jaehwan through the stealthy quiet of the library toward the private rooms upstairs where students could go when in dire need of somewhere to hide. Jaehwan glanced at him fleetingly, laughing as he did so.

 

'Don’t look so pissed off,’ he said. 'It’s not that big of a deal. We can go stay at Hakyeon’s tonight if you want.’ But Hakyeon’s apartment was miles off campus.

 

In the private room of the library, so still and vacant it seemed abandoned, Jaehwan collected his bag, his books that lay open on the low table. He said, 'Tell me about your rendezvous in the country. What could you have been doing up there all night by yourself?’ He linked his arm with Taekwoon’s own, the weight of him at Taekwoon’s side one of such comfort and familiarity it was utterly harmless.

 

'Well.’ What could he say, Taekwoon wondered, that would not upset Jaehwan? He’d been in such poor spirits as of late that the thought of bringing up Hongbin seemed redundant. 'There wasn’t much to do to start with. I read,’ he lied. 'I practiced a little.’

 

Jaehwan raised his eyebrows; his eyes comically large. 'What’s gotten into you? First you start taking interest in the theater again and now you’re playing again?’ He leaned deeper into Taekwoon’s side as they emerged from the library. 'Maybe the three of us should go to the country soon? Do you think? It’s been a while.’

 

'The three of us?’ Taekwoon asked, perplexed.

 

'Me, you, Hakyeon? Did you forget him already?’ He laughed, 'Why are you looking at me like that?’

 

Beneath the awning, the sky a slate grey and pouring torrents, Taekwoon offered a one-shouldered shrug. Half an answer. He looked out toward the fields as night fell over them like a blanket.

 

'We’ll go to Hakyeon’s,’ he decided then. 'I parked on the far side of campus, so we’ll have to run for it. Do you think he has extra clothes there?’

  
Given the early hour of the night, Hakyeon wasn’t yet home. He worked evenings at the movie theater across town, but because this so often happened, Taekwoon knew where he kept the extra key. He bent over a flower pot where tulips blossomed and retrieved the key to let himself in. Jaehwan stomped the mud from his shoes on the welcome mat before kicking them in the corner by the door.

 

At once he was lounged on the sofa: his feet on the arm rest and his head lolled back. 'He keeps it so cold in here. Turn the heat on, won’t you?’

 

Tea cups dirtied the coffee table and a game of solitaire was spread out across the dining table. Taekwoon cleared the dirty dishes and the cards, passing the thermostat into the kitchen where a door leading out onto the back patio stood open. The screen clattered in its holding as the wind blew, muggy, into the kitchen.

 

'I’m starving!’ Jaehwan called out. 'Are you?’

 

In fact, Taekwoon was. He peered out from the kitchen and said: 'I’ll find something to order. Why don’t you call Hakyeon and let him know we’re here?’ There was no need in giving him a heart attack if he was to come home and find them both splayed out across the carpet.

 

He ordered from a nearby market: pork, tofu stew; a jar of kimchi that was not at all like his mothers, but tasted just as well. It was late by the time the food came, the dining table set; Hakyeon had a television set that neither Taekwoon or Jaehwan knew the luxury of, and as they picked at plates overfilled with food, the world news played loudly.

 

'This is too depressing,’ Jaehwan declared a half hour later. He was sat on the edge of his seat with his legs folded beneath himself. 'Doesn’t he own a disc player? Movies, or something?’

 

'Go mess with his things if you want,’ Taekwoon muttered. 'I’m not doing it.’

 

But neither of them moved and after a while the news became nothing more than white noise to their deluded silence. After dinner, Jaehwan rummaged the liquor cabinet where Hakyeon kept bottles of bourbon, used mostly for cooking; bottles of port en masse; blackberry whiskey by a brewing company Taekwoon had never heard of before but liked quite a bit. And they laid out across the carpet with a game of backgammon between them; a slow game made slower by their intake of gin. Taekwoon’s face bristled with color as the alcohol warmed his blood. Jaehwan, having drank quite a lot already, was slumped forward in a halfhearted attempt to stay awake.

 

'Do you think Hakyeon will be home soon?’ Jaehwan wondered. 'He’s really late tonight.’

 

'Don’t worry.’ Taekwoon checked the time on his wristwatch. It wasn’t yet eleven. The theater would be closing up about now, the last showing of the evening would be ending soon. But it was as he watched, a little dazed, head grown foggy by sleep and liquor that Taekwoon remembered with a start that he hadn’t yet called Hongbin.

 

Taekwoon rose and left to the bedroom, unable to close the door for Jaehwan called out: 'Where are you going? Are you going to bed?’

 

'No. I have to make a call.’

 

'To whom?’ he demanded lightly. He crawled onto his knees, then onto his feet; curiosity fervent in his round eyes.

 

'Hongbin.’

 

’ _Hongbin?_ ’

 

'Yes.’ Taekwoon peered out the doorway, suddenly aware that he was more than tired. He was irritated. His eyes brimmed with the beginnings of a headache; his arms were weights at his sides. 'Is that alright with you?’

 

'Fine. I didn’t know you two were so close is all.’

 

Without thought, Taekwoon said: 'We’re not,’ and at once regretted it. He had never been a comfortable liar and to stand there now, having words flow out of his mouth that he had no intention of saying, jarred him. He started. Looking into Jaehwan’s face, apology forming like heartache at the base of his throat, he opened his mouth but it was then Jaehwan raised a hand and quieted him.

 

He rolled his eyes and said simply, 'You are. You don’t have to hide it.’ Then he left the game on the floor—he had been winning—and the television continued to play; he left the room and all the things in it in a silence that was as uncomfortable as it was heavy. Taekwoon in the midst of it, watched as Jaehwan shrank out of the room and into the back of the apartment where the extra bedroom was. He heard the door latch shut.

 

Time is a silly thing when one doesn’t know what to do with it. Taekwoon focused on the television without seeing what was in front of him. He glanced down at his phone screen with Hongbin’s number half dialed already, and the smudged numbers lining his inner wrist. He thought about going to bed as well, of leaving by himself back to the dorms where he might be uncomfortable, but at least it would not be as unforgiving as the silence he was left in now.

 

It was only after the news finished and he found himself virtually unmoved that Taekwoon pocketed his phone and went to Jaehwan’s room. He would have knocked had he thought Jaehwan would have answered. Instead, he let himself in. Light from the kitchen fell celestial and strange into the darkness of the room; his shadow a silhouette across the bed, the comforter, crawling up the walls like something nightmarish.

 

'Can’t I sleep without you barging in?’ Jaehwan asked, not unkindly but morose in the dark, as if he had accepted a sorrowful fate.

 

When it was obvious Taekwoon would not leave, Jaehwan turned away from the wall and shielded his eyes from the flood of light. 'Close the door at least, you twit.’

 

'We need to talk.’

 

'Oh, God.’ With a sweep of his arms as if asking the world: why, just  _why_ did it have to be  _him_? Jaehwan sat up with his back to the headboard. He reached over the nightstand and clicked on the lamp. All at once that room was breached by warm yellow light.

 

'What is it, Taekwoon?’

 

'Won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?’

 

'You aren’t serious, are you?’ He waited as Taekwoon first closed the bedroom door, then pulled a chair—a small, tired thing—to the foot of the bed where he sat quietly, awaiting an explanation that seemed would never come. 'God, you  _are_ , aren’t you?’

 

Threading his fingers through tousled hair, Jaehwan dragged his palms over his face as if in an attempt to rouse himself. Then, breathing as soundless as tears in rain, he said: 'I used to think your ability to be so utterly clueless was charming. But it’s really insufferable.’

 

'You think I’m so unaware. You’d be surprised.’

 

'Would I?’

 

It was the severity of Jaehwan’s furrowed brow, a tight knitting of emotion between his eyes that had Taekwoon looking away. 'No, probably not.’ He heaved a great sigh and lowered his head to better stare at the carpet. 'Is it going to be like this, then? Always?’

 

'No, of course not.’

 

Taekwoon didn’t say anything.

 

'Look,’ Jaehwan leaned forward as if to reach for Taekwoon, but suddenly thought better of it. He collapsed onto the headboard once more, his hands cradled in his lap. His voice was lowered beyond recognition; a gloomy tone so incredibly melancholic Taekwoon was forced to look up from the floor and into Jaehwan’s flushed face.

 

He said, 'You don’t have to love me back. That isn’t a requirement, and I don’t expect it of you. You understand, though, don’t you? That it’s hard to handle? You running off with some boy you don’t even know—Listen,’ he lifted his hand before Taekwoon could interrupt. 'I don’t care to hear it. I just want you to understand that it’s hard.’

 

'I do.’

 

'Damned hard. Can you light me a cigarette?’

 

They smoked with the window open and the curtains billowing inward. Smog like clouds swirled above them and Taekwoon left the chair to instead sit at the foot of the bed. He touched Jaehwan’s leg beneath the covers.

 

'I took him to the country with me last night. Nothing very important happened, but you should know.’

 

Jaehwan stared bleakly at the stirring curtains. He said nothing as Taekwoon searched him, ultimately coming up as empty-handed as he expected to. Jaehwan’s face was as cold as stone and just as distant; he listened as Taekwoon told him: 'I want to be serious with him. I’m sure you don’t want to hear this, but… he’ll be around a lot, I think, from now on. He seems rather serious about me as well.’

 

'Of course. Why wouldn’t he be?’ To both their dismay, Jaehwan’s voice cracked. It was a terrible sound in that incredible silence, like the crackle of a gun in the dark, like exploding thunder just before a storm. He cleared his throat and touched his face; it was a quick motion, but one too familiar to be anything but what it was: he wiped water from his eyes.

  
He laughed despite himself. 'Don’t look at me like that, Taekwoonie, I’m fine.’ He stubbed out his cigarette in a teacup on the nightstand, then reached for the light. If there was anything else on his mind, Taekwoon realized Jaehwan would never speak it; for it was done and it was over, and he would ache for a while longer, but there was nothing either of them could do about it.

 

'Shut the door when you leave?’

 

'That can’t be it. Jaehwan-ah—’

 

'Please, Taekwoon, let me sleep. I’m tired and I drank too much. I want to sleep. It’s late anyway.’ He burrowed himself beneath the covers, but by the light of the window, Taekwoon could see his eyes glitter in the dark like celestial beings; stars, about to fall.

 

He crouched by the bedside with a hand in Jaehwan’s hair. 'Nothing will change, will it?’

 

'No, of course not.’

 

Taekwoon stared at him with childlike wonder. There was no way to be certain if everything would be OK, but in the silence which followed—one comforting like a half spoken apology—Taekwoon brushed a kissed to Jaehwan’s forehead. 'Goodnight,’ he said.

 

'Yes, goodnight, don’t forget to close the door.’

  


  
A little after midnight Taekwoon took to the front porch. He smoked a cigarette as the rain began to drift away; cloudbursts paved across the autumn sky like wandering ships in search of land. They passed over the moon and took with them the cold, the wind, and all the beginnings of winter. In their place: humidity rose.

 

The faint crackle of footsteps carried on the passing wind and within moments Hakyeon stood, slightly confused, but smiling all the same.

 

'Hello,’ he said, amused.

 

'Hello,’ Taekwoon smiled in return. He breathed a laugh at the odd quiet that passed over them. 'There’s dinner on the table.’

 

'So late?’

 

'Yes. Didn’t Jaehwan call you to tell you we would be here?’

 

'He might have. My phone died a while ago.’ Hakyeon took the cigarette from Taekwoon’s mouth. 'Tell me, how was your weekend getaway?’ Then, with a wave of his hand: 'What? You wonder how I know? You left yesterday with Hongbin in your car, I saw you.’ With a glittering smile, he said: 'Then you never came back. Do you think I’m an idiot?’

 

'Don’t think too much.’

 

'I would never.’

 

They shared a smile.

 

'Jaehwan’s asleep in the guest room,’ Taekwoon told him. 'He’s probably still awake, but you should leave him alone for tonight.’

 

'Did you two finally talk?’

 

'Not as much as I would have liked,’ Taekwoon said, taking back his cigarette. 'But, I suppose, yes. We talked about it. Why don’t you go eat your dinner?’

 

Hakyeon touched Taekwoon’s shoulder as he passed toward the front door. He said, 'Don’t feel bad. I know how you are, but you can’t blame yourself over this.’

 

'I never said I did.’

 

'No. But I’ve known you long enough to know how you work.’ He paused for a length of time; his voice crooning low and sweet, like honeysuckle in spring, he explained: 'If we could choose who we love, heartbreak wouldn’t exist.’

 

'Such a romantic,’ Taekwoon scoffed.

 

'Yes. Now come inside.’

 

'In a moment.’

 

Time passed. Taekwoon was able to hear the clatter of dishes through the thin windows; the television was turned up the slightest bit and turned to a movie. Something English, dramatic. It sounded a great deal like  _Casablanca_.

 

Taekwoon took out his phone and dialed Hongbin at once. It rang a very long time before the call was answered; Hongbin, his voice tired but humble, murmured a low-pitched, 'Yes?’ that warmed Taekwoon to his heart.

'Hi,’ he whispered. 'It’s me.’

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed this series, it means a lot to hear from you so pls don't be afraid to leave any feedback ♡
> 
> you can come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/lustfortaekwoon) / [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/Iovleo) anytime  
> & for anyone who has just started the series, read wild tigers i have known [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9840929) ♡


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